


Premonition Problems

by YouNeedAUsername222



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Humor, I honestly don't know who the target audience for this is, Just Banshee Things, Lots of Anecdotal Tangents, Lydia-centric, Not Canon Compliant, Please enlighten me, Sorry Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:15:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25528027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouNeedAUsername222/pseuds/YouNeedAUsername222
Summary: Lydia has a strange banshee premonition and investigates.Since returning to Beacon Hills after graduating college a year ago, premonitions had been few and far between. The Nemeton apparently wasn’t up to its usual shenanigans, and no new supernatural forces had arrived recently. Although, banshee powers weren’t always beneficial, as a couple of incidents in college had so helpfully highlighted.
Relationships: Lydia Martin/Jordan Parrish
Kudos: 12





	Premonition Problems

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what possessed me to write this...

Saturday is a great day. It’s the day Lydia doesn’t have to work. It’s the day she doesn’t have to wake up at eight in the morning. She just wished her body would get the memo because here she is, now awake fifteen minutes before the time her alarm would go off during the week. 

She sighed, stretching an arm out onto the other side of the bed expecting to find Parrish’s face at her fingertips, but instead locating empty air. Glancing to her left, she saw that her boyfriend was indeed not there. He probably went on a morning jog or something. 

_At least one of us has the good sense to stay in bed on the weekend_ , Lydia thought. Still, there was no way she was getting back to sleep, so may as well get up. 

Lydia was about to traipse into the bathroom to wash the sleep out of her eyes when a familiar feeling crept in and washed over her. She paused and pulled her nightgown tighter to her chest, suddenly colder. Something wasn’t right. 

A faint crackling sound begged her attention from the direction of the kitchen. In any other situation, she might roll her eyes at the interruption, but a deep breath sufficed instead. It was almost a certainty that if there were someone else with her, they would hear nothing. 

Since returning to Beacon Hills after graduating college a year ago, premonitions had been few and far between. The Nemeton apparently wasn’t up to its usual shenanigans, and no new supernatural forces had arrived recently. No evil ones, at least. 

Although banshee powers weren’t always beneficial, as a couple of incidents in college had so helpfully highlighted. There had been one awkward moment in which a friend snuck up on her and playfully shouted ‘boo’. Lydia had shrieked in surprise and accidentally sent the café sign halfway across the car park. 

Then there was the sneeze incident in wholefoods… she wouldn’t get over that in a hurry, and neither would the poor kid who’d been launched into the spice rack. 

Apart from all that, things had actually been relatively quiet. Except Malia texting her from France every damn day with a new sentence she needed converting from or into English. The girl refused to use Google Translate and no matter how endearing it had been at first, nothing could excuse not knowing the meaning of ‘bon appétit’. 

Lydia cautiously made her way towards the kitchen, careful not to make too much noise. Clear, uninterrupted sound is imperative to identifying noises in a premonition. And she was sure it was just that; a premonition. 

She surveyed the pots and pans, concluding their cleanliness. Parrish – uh, Jordan – must have loaded the dishwasher this morning. The volume of the sound escalated as she rounded the kitchen island and stepped towards the oven. 

Lydia frowned, closing her eyes for a second in focus. The noise became clearer, a sputtering resonance, almost like rain. Is someone going to drown? No, she’d hear a muffled voice and maybe feel a little something in her airways. Is a storm going to crash down and wash everyone away? That would be less than ideal, but it didn’t sound right either. 

Maybe something else would rain from above… like bombs. Maybe someone wanted to nuke Beacon Hills once and for all. 

“Ugh, _maybe_ you should stop overthinking,” Lydia scolded herself out loud, standing up straight, shoulders back. These supernatural feelings are only useful if you can interpret them, and she needed a clear mind for that. She took another deep breath, easing her panic in order to think logically. Something she’d always been good at. ‘Gooder than most,’ as Malia might say. 

A scent caught her attention. As a banshee, sensory awareness had proved useful in the past. It was a pleasant, salty odour, strong too. What was it? It was like… bacon. Lydia realised that she could smell bacon. Was she predicting Babe’s death? She stared at the cooker for a second, unsure of where to go from there. 

A sudden click from behind her made her whirl around, red hair flying out before settling back on nightgown-clad shoulders. Parrish emerged from the front door, kicking it shut with his heel. 

“Morning,” he smiled cheerfully, far too happy for the time of day. Lydia felt as though she was still knee-deep in the premonition, but Parrish’s presence watered it down a bit. She watched as he waddled up to the counter, placing two full shopping bags onto it. 

A couple of items spilled out, including a pair of Parrish’s favourite brand of non-flammable underwear. Because fire-resistant doesn’t necessarily mean completely fireproof every time, he’s noticed, much to the chagrin of an elderly couple passing by that one time. His fiery alter ego had apparently felt it necessary to make an appearance to fight what turned out to be a false alarm near Lookout Point. The only thing Parrish had ended up fighting was an indecent exposure charge. 

Lydia spotted a packet of lightly smoked bacon and a carton of eggs cascade onto the counter as well. Suddenly it all made sense. She could almost cry in relief. She’s had some strange premonitions in her time, but supernatural auguries of breakfast? That’s a first. 

“Guess what we’re having for breakfast,” Parrish declared, opening the Stealth Fridge (he called it that because it had the same wooden door as the cupboards) and thankfully bringing Lydia out of her thoughts. Beacon Hills, or Bacon Hills, wasn’t under attack, and everything was fine. 

She sighed, turning on her heel in the direction of the shower, “already did.”


End file.
